Slap him, he's French
by sahriaWatkins
Summary: Les MisHarry Potter xover. Our dear inspector Javert finds himself embracing his gypsy heritage at everyone's favourite wizarding school. Don't ask me why
1. Default Chapter

A/N Written by me, but with a little editorial advice from ArgentineRose. See pofile (my profile) for details.

It was Christmas Eve. Snow fell (insert descriptive adjective) on the ground of Hogwarts School, as a carriage drew up outside, drawn by invisible horses. A tall figure stepped out which anyone could have mistaking for a dementor (if it weren't for the fact that he wore a top hat). Whilst he did not exactly drain happiness from the air, he certainly did nothing to add any cheer to the atmosphere. In fact, he produced a definite chill. As soon as he stepped out of the carriage the happiness positively drained out of the air. Any Christmas feeling that was one lit by the decorative fairies was extinguished. (mostly due to the fact that hey flew away. Screaming)

The man looked up at the turrets and towers of Hogwarts and the best way to describe his expression was disgust.

"God I hate neo-gothic!" he mouthed to himself, "S'like that bloody depressing 'Notre-Dame de Paris' book"

A whispering entered his ear, "Actually ,it's original." The voice was as sarky as the man's usual thinking voice so he made nothing of it, until it spoke again.

"You're the new defence against the dark arts teacher, aren't you?"

Since there was no reason for him to ask himself this question, seeing as he already knew the answer, the man deduced that there was someone standing behind him. He turned to see a tall gangly figure, with deathly pale skin, greasy black hair down to his shoulders, and a hooked nose,who was wearing an expression of utmost disdain. He uttered a small snort at the man's ridiculously overlong nose - when he was tired he found it very hard to be polite.

"Who are you?" he enquired.

The hooked nosed man sniggered slightly as he thought what ridiculous sideburns the stranger had.

"I'm Professor Snape. Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master." Snape silently picked up one of the man's trunks and started dragging it up the stairs to the huge oak door. The man followed suit and picked the other trunk, noticing that the Snape fellow had left him the heavier one."

"Bastard," he muttered with a distinct French accent. Snape heard this remark but decided not to comment.

Inside the hall the potions master said sourly, "Leave the bags - the house-elves will take them to your room. Dinner is waiting for you in the great hall."

He followed Snape into the hall, which lavishly decorated. Obvious. Lacking in taste. The was a large wooden table and an even larger roaring fire. He looked up, to find he could see the stars.

"Is this ceiling transparent or an illusion?"

"Both - from the outside you can't see in."

"oh"

Harry looked up from his pumpkin soup, to find Snape walking in with a equally formidable man by his side. He liked the look of the man not a bit. He was the type you would find in crappy muggle period dramas. Was this an equally greasy relative of Snape's visiting for Christmas? Ron had noticed him too as he looked at Harry for an explanation. Finding none forthcoming they shrugged at each other and looked at Dumbledore.

"Severus, you found him alright then?"

"Yes, Sir," Snape did not like being talked down to like a retarded pre-schooler, which was why he spent most of his time avoiding the headmaster.

Dumbledore addressed the man, "Was you journey alright?"

"Yes, but the thestrals are an awful bother. They remind me of my own mortality."

Harry was taken aback: "Ok, so you've seen someone snuff it but it's Christmas Eve, lighten up a little!" he whispered to Ron, who snorted into his pasty.

Dumbledore addressed the table, "Oh, I'm terrible sorry! I haven't introduced you all. This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is your new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Javert."

There was a little polite applause but Ron muttered to Harry with disgust, "Oh God, he's French!"


	2. chapter 2: a floating matter

Javert was shown to his quarters, and started to unpack. They were situated in south tower above the classroom he would teach in.  
Most people reading this will wonder what our good friend Inspector Javert (first class) was doing in a wizard school in twentieth century Scotland. Well, the years of his youth spent inside a filthy jail had taught Javert only two things. Firstly, that criminals were disgusting and subhuman creatures which were to be view with hatred and, secondly, that displaying to the outside world powers usually considered to be unnatural was, at best, unwise. The young boy learned to hide the powers he had inherited from his mother and eventually became a little suspicious of them His mother herself had been shunned from the magical community after her expulsion from Beauxbatons in her last year there. Madame Javert ending up living her life as a gypsy muggle doing petty magic for petty cash. Her only wish was to educate her son in sorcery. The only reason Javert relented and learnt from her was that he could not stand being around the scum of the jail. Anything legal that gave him an edge, he was prepared to try. Used on the sly, his magical powers help him to build a reputation as one of the most feared detectives in Paris. And yet, from the age of 11 till the day of his supposed suicide he tried to hide his undignified upbringing.  
Of course that day, the day he lost all direction due to the convict, Jean Valjean, he had decided the seine was the best place for him to end up. But, unconsciously, as he tried to struggle against the current of the river, he uttered with his last breath an incantation. A spell he remembered only dimly, as if from a past life.  
This was the bubble head charm, he found he could breath and was utterly taken aback. Well, imagine how you would feel if you just tried to commit suicide and wound up suddenly being able to breath underwater, He stopped fighting and drifted - it was all he could do. He thought and thought and was there for who can say how much time, thinking and dreaming until he naturally energetic nature reappeared and he decided that he needed to stop.  
By that time he had drifted out to sea, and by his own calculation thought he was somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. He was picked up by a rather surprised cod trawler which took him back to Grimsby. From there he went to somewhere that his mother had often talked about - London's, Diagon Alley. In the Leakey Cauldron he had run into Dumbledore, Javert told of his life before - in the jail, the French police force and his subsequent years of drifting.  
Now Dumbledore was in trouble, lets face it. No-one wanted to teach at his school, the last defence against the dark arts teacher quit before the Christmas holidays after Peeves threw the bust of Wendolin the Weird at her (and the tiny matter of the death eater attack). So, Dumbledore entrusted this tall French stranger with a job. Fortunately, Javert had spent the last month in Diagon Alley, reading up on his history of magic, spells and the dark arts. Which he (as we all know he would) decided he despised, and would fight against at all costs. 


End file.
